


Night Of Beauty, Night Of Love

by FunHatingKobold



Category: Les Contes d'Hoffman - Offenbach/Barbier, The Tales of Hoffmann
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:00:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23810446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FunHatingKobold/pseuds/FunHatingKobold
Summary: Hoffmann is a bit slow to appreciate beauty that one time, but his Muse takes the opportunity
Relationships: The Muse/Giulietta
Kudos: 1





	Night Of Beauty, Night Of Love

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, I'm a bit drunk and I just watched The Met's performance and if you've seen it yourself, I don't think you need further explanation.

Hoffmann is busy now, feverishly writing in the warmth of the afterglow and the wine. A few whores still circle around him, some brush against his shoulders, some touch his hair or sit on his table. They are curious and a bit condescending, none of them really expect anything from him, not now. Artists and poets are all cut from the same cloth, and he is not the first to grace their brothel.

Only Giulietta seems slighted.

"Would he not come to me? My benefactor will be back soon, he should have me in his arms while he has the chance."

"He should," agrees the Muse and slides her hand over Giulietta's soft breasts, then reverently bows to kiss them. The perfume is sweet, but the scent of the courtesan's skin is sweeter.

"I do not think he loves me. But he will."

"He will," agrees the Muse and kisses Giulietta's painted lips, the lips Hoffmann should be kissing.

"But you are a sweet thing. What is your name?"

"Nicklausse," lies the Muse and Giulietta smiles. She knows what is hidden under the tightly buttoned waistcoat, and she knows what she will not find when she unbuttons the breeches. She places her hand there, where a shameless bulge should be rising and "Nicklausse" gasps and closes her eyes. Hoffmann raises his gaze from the page, grins and shakes his head.

***

"You can't find love in a brothel."

"Look at you, suddenly the fountain of all wisdom! Need I remind you of Spalanzani's daughter?" The Muse raises her arms and dangles them awkwardly, like a puppet in the hands of a clumsy puppeteer.

"You are impossible!" states Hoffmann and fills his glass again. "And you are a fool."

"Maybe. But she will have you in the end." The Muse sits on his writing table and swings her feet, inwardly smiling to herself. Hoffmann would love the courtesan and his passion will be intoxicating, pouring out on the page among smeared drops of ink and tears. But for now - the kisses, the touches, the warmth - for now they are only hers.

***

"I will get horses," the Muse had said before running off, but instead she finds herself back at Giulietta's door. They haven't a moment to lose, there is blood drying on her poet's hands and the police are on their way. And yet.

"What have you done to him!" she cries out when her desperate banging at the door is answered. The courtesan seems nonplussed.

"I made him love me. I told you I would."

"He killed a man! For you!" The words are not of accusation or anger, but admiration; before she has finished speaking them, she is in Giulietta's arms, placing breathless kisses on the ruthless woman's neck and chin, and when she reaches the lips she bites with passion and need. And something akin to gratitude. If they survive this, if they manage to get away in time, Hoffmann will write like never before. The Muse can already feel the ecstasy of it and she wants to share it with the one responsible, just one last time.

"I have no diamonds to give you," she whispers as her searching fingers tangle with the chain of the necklace Giulietta has sold Hoffmann's love for.

Giulietta does not answer, only kisses her back.


End file.
